The Lost Boy and The Gardener's Daughter Page 16

  “That’s Slipperene they’re throwing on to the dance floor,” Whitey shouted in Paul’s lug.

  “Whit’s Slipperene?”

  “It makes the floor slippery, just like a skating pond and allows the dancers to coast along better. It saves them having to lift their feet up.”

  “Ye’re kidding me?”

  “No, no, wait until the dancing starts…you’ll see. It’s amazing.”

  Paul looked aboot tae see if Morven wis oan the go. He noticed that aw the folks fae the different straths wur still in their ain groups. The stage wis at the far end and the bar, which wis aboot ten deep wae people, wis oan the right as ye came in the entrance. Paul and Jock hid awready done the roonds ae the tables…Paul checking oot where Morven wis and Jock looking fur Jeannie Vass, his tall skinny dancer. While Jock hid easily spotted Jeannie, Morven hid been naewhere tae be seen, although he’d spotted The Gardener’s Daughter talking tae her da, The Duke, and aw his crowd, who wur set up at four tables that wur covered in white tablecloths. Oan his way roond the tent, people patted him oan the back and telt him how proud they wur that wan ae Innes and Whitey’s lost boys hid wiped the flair wae the Sellars.

  “Good evening, lads and lassies, boys and girls. Welcome to the Ardgay Gala & Highland Games ceilidh,” Cawley McLeod, the estate’s chauffeur-come-mechanic shouted intae the microphone, as the lights dipped and everywan in the marquee decided tae test oot their voices by screaming the place doon.

  “Now then, what a treat we’ve got for you tonight. To start the night off, all the way from Insch in Aberdeenshire, we’ve got one of the top ceilidh dance bands in Scotland, Zanussi & The Frigidaires, who you can see standing behind me, raring to go,” he roared, tae loud cheers. “And, if that isn’t enough, without a doubt the top Country and Western band Scotland’s ever produced, Sarah May Todd & The Cowpokes, will be playing for us later. Right, I just want to say a quick thanks to everyone who has made this one of the best games we’ve ever had, and without further ado, give a big warm welcome to Zanussi & the Frigidaires!”

  Everywan in the marquee roared.

  “Good evening, everybody, my name’s Iain MacDonald and I’m going to be calling out the dances tonight, so don’t worry if you don’t know the steps, I’ll keep you right. Firstly, we’re going to start with a Strip The Willow, followed by an Eightsome Reel, followed by a Dashing White Sergeant. Right, are you ready?”

  “Yes!” everywan roared as the flair filled wae four rows ae people ae aw ages.

  It wis just then that Morven appeared in front ae Paul and dragged him intae a set wae three other couples.

  “Bit, Ah don’t know how tae dae these dances, Morven,” he protested.

  “Don’t worry, Paul, the bouzouki player with the band will be calling out the steps and I’ll keep you right,” she shouted, laughing.

  “Right, here we go. One, two, three, four!” Iain Macdonald shouted, as the band opened up.

  The next hour and a hauf wis a blur tae Paul. Some ae the time, he wis up stomping aboot tae dances called The Gay Gordons and The Military Two Step and the next he’d be either o’er at the tables, talking tae folk wae Morven or ootside getting a bit ae fresh air. The ceilidh band hid jist finished and a lot ae people wur milling aboot ootside including Morven and himsel.

  “I’m sorry about this afternoon, Paul,” Morven said.

  “Naw, it’s me that should be apologising tae yersel. Ah wis bang oot ae order talking tae yersel and yer rich boss pal like that.”

  “It was just that I got such a fright seeing you in that ring, fighting with George. I thought you were about to get seriously hurt. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’s hurt someone really badly.”

  “Aye, Ah know. Innes and Whitey hiv a young pup. A wee while ago, when the Sellars wur up hassling Innes aboot something, the pup came across tae George fur a wee pat oan the heid and he booted it in the face. It lost wan ae its eyes.”

  “Oh, no, what a shame. Is it alright?”

  “No really. Innes and Whitey took it tae the vets o’er in Lairg, who took its eye oot and sewed it back up. It wis daeing fine, bit the eye his become infected. Ah think it’s in a bad way.”

  “Will it die?”

  “It will if it disnae get antibiotics. Innes and Whitey didnae hiv the money tae buy any mair.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, Paul. They must be feeling terrible.”

  “Well, they’re okay noo. The reason Ah went intae the ring wis tae try and win the ten quid tae pay fur the medicine that Wan-eye…that’s whit Ah call him…needs tae get better.”

  “Oh Paul, I feel like a fool now. That was wonderfully brave of you. So, that’s why you were fighting. I thought it was because of me. I’m sorry.”

  “Morven, why the fuck wid I be fighting o’er somewan like yersel? Whit’s the score wae you and the son ae Mick McManus anyway? You’re no gaun oot wae him, ur ye?”

  “No. For some reason, George thinks he has some sort of ownership…no, not ownership…some sort of claim on me,” she replied guardedly.

  “Jist tell the prick tae fuck aff. Tell him ye’re gaun oot wae me noo,” he said tae her.

  “Am I?”

  “Whit?”

  “Going out with you?”

  “Well, that’s whit Ah’d like. How aboot yersel?”

  “Sounds good to me,” she said wae a smile, as they embraced and kissed fur the first time as girlfriend and boyfriend, before being rudely interrupted.

  “Take your dirty filthy paws off of her, Lost Boy!” George Sellar snarled, spinning Paul aroond and away fae Morven.

  “George!” Morven screamed, pushing George away and moving between them tae shield Paul fae George, Cameron and two other estate keepers, Johnnie Ross and Patrick Stewart.

  “Hoi, who ur ye pushing aboot, ya ugly wanker, ye. It’s no a wee pup ye’re hitting noo, ya big thick prick, ye,” Paul snarled back, trying tae get past Morven, as the estate boys spread oot facing them.

  “Morven, get out of the way…this has got nothing to do with you,” George hissed.

  “Ye wid’ve thought youse pricks wid’ve hid enough ae a hiding this efternoon withoot coming back fur second helpings,” Gareth Burr fae The Cowpokes said fae behind the Sellars and their pals.

  “What’s this to do with you, eh? Fuck off before you get a sore face,” a startled Cameron Sellar snarled, spinning roond tae face The Cowpokes.

  “It’s goat plenty tae dae wae us. He’s fae the same place as us, so fuck aff before somewan gets really hurt,” Gareth’s brother, Blair, said.

  “Aye and I wouldn’t go on about sore faces about here. Have ye looked in the mirror lately, tattie-heid,” Iain Macdonald, fae The Zanussis said, brandishing a Newcastle Brown Ale beer bottle by the neck.

  There wis a stand-aff. Ye could see the hesitation in the faces ae the estate boys and the determination ae the band members, who wur clearly gonnae staun their ground. It wis clear that the local boys wurnae too sure whit they wur dealing wae. It wis The Gardener’s Daughter who finally broke the ice and helped them make up their minds.

  “George Sellar, if you and that brother of yours don’t leave this field in the next minute, you can start looking for new jobs tomorrow. That goes for you two as well,” Saba hissed, turning roond tae Johnnie Ross and Patrick Stewart, steel in her voice.

  Efter a slight hesitation, the Sellars and their mates trudged aff towards the gate. As the last ae them passed Blair, Blair held up his two hauns as if he hid drum sticks in them and did an imaginary drum roll oan Cameron’s heid.

  “T’ching,” he chimed, smiling.

  Paul remembered the story his pal Johnboy Taylor hid telt him aboot the night that Sarah Todd and The Cowpokes hid played their very first ever live gig. It hid been in The McAslin Bar in the Toonheid in Glesga when Paul wis aboot eleven. Although Paul hid been oan remand in Larchgrove Remand Centre at the time, Paul’s pals, Tony, Joe, Skull and Johnboy hid bought a doo cabin dookit aff ae the Murphy brothers, w
ho worked fur Pat Molloy, the local Big Man, during the summer holidays ae nineteen sixty five. The cabin hid stood behind the billboards at the tap ae the Castle Street end ae Parly Road. Whit the boys hidnae known at the time wis that the hooses aw aboot the cabin wur tae be knocked doon tae make way fur the new motorway. The Murphy brothers hid known this and hid still sold the cabin tae them. There hid been nae argument aboot them being ripped aff and the boys hid ended up owing the Murphy’s twenty-odd quid, whether the dookit wis staunin or no. Tae get that kind ae money quickly, Johnboy hid come up wae the perfect solution. The boys decided tae tan the loft dookit where the brothers and The Big Man bred thoroughbred Horseman Thief Pouter pigeons. These wurnae yer ordinary scabby doos either. Seemingly, The Big Man sent them across tae Canada and America where he goat big money fur them. It hid been during the anniversary party in The McAslin Bar that The Big Man hid been throwing fur his maw and da that Paul’s pals, The Mankys, hid tanned the loft. They’d goat away wae aboot fifty or sixty doos and hid sold them tae some gangster guy, who lived oot in Kirkintilloch, who wis known as The Driving Instructor. The connection wae The Driving Instructor hid come fae Flypast, a local doo man, who flew the doos oot the back ae Johnboy’s hoose up in Montrose Street. While Sarah May’s band wur gieing it big licks in the bar, The Mankys hid been up oan the roof ae the tenement building, breaking intae the Murphys’ loft tae get the Big Man’s prized doos. Paul smiled tae himsel, remembering the excitement in Johnboy’s voice when he’d telt him the story efter Johnboy hid joined Paul in The Grove fur stealing the copper sheets aff ae the records building up in Sighthill cemetery. Paul hid awready been sentenced tae an approved school and wis waiting tae get sent tae St Ninians.

  “That’s whit happens when ootsiders come tae toon and get aff wae the local lassies. The local boys resent it and want tae hiv a go,” Gareth wis saying, as the two bands sat in front ae the bar, hivving a beer efter The Cowpokes hid finished their set later oan.

  “Aye, it happens to us everywhere we go,” chipped in Big Bob Barrow, bass player wae the Zanussis.

  “Aye, bit it’s okay fur youse. At least youse ur chookters yersels and live up here. Ye should see the reaction we get, wae us coming fae Glesga,” Gareth said.

  “Aye, T’ching,” Blair said, daeing an imaginary drum role.

  “We’re no exactly from here, Gareth, ye numpty, ye. Insch and Inverurie are over a hundred miles from here,” Iain Rae fae the Zanussis added.

  “Ye know whit Ah mean, Iain.”

  “Ah wis totally surprised tae see youse in a place like Ardgay,” Paul said tae The Cowpokes.

  “Ach, this is nothing. We play Orkney and Shetland aw the time,” Michael Massie said.

  “So, how long ur ye staying up here, Paul?” Sarah asked him.

  “Ah’m no sure. Ah’ve no made up ma mind yet.”

  “Ye could dae worse. The Toonheid his aw bit disappeared.”

  “Ah don’t suppose ye’ve come across Tony Gucci, Joe McManus, Silent Smith or Johnboy Taylor oan yer travels, hiv youse?” Paul asked them.

  “Naw, we’re oan the road fifty two weeks ae the year, so we ur. The last time Ah saw any ae that crowd wis when Ah saw Johnboy Taylor being chased doon Cathedral Street by a couple ae big polis. That wis probably sometime last year. Wan ae his sisters telt me he wis in the clink wae the rest ae yer pals,” Sarah replied.

  “Paul, are you coming? That’s the cart about to go,” Morven shouted fae the door.

  “Listen, that’s me, Ah’ll hiv tae go. Thanks fur the help earlier oan,” Paul said tae them.

  “Ach, any time, Paul. Dinnae let these Highlanders get tae ye...unless they play fur the Zanussis,” Gareth said, laughing, as he nodded across at the Aberdeenshire band.

  “Cheers. Sarah, mind and tell Calum Ah wis asking efter him,” Paul said, rushing oot the door and breaking intae a run tae catch up wae the cart as it wis turning right oot ae the gate, heiding towards the bridge o’er the River Carron.

  “C’mon, hurry, Paul,” Jock shouted as he shifted his arse, making room fur Paul tae jump oan tae the back ae the cart between him and Morven. Oan the other side ae Morven, The Gardener’s Daughter sat, swinging her legs back and forth.

  There wisnae any singing gaun oan. Paul wisnae sure if it wis because everywan wis too pished, which a lot ae them wur, or if they knew The Gardener’s Daughter wis in their midst. He wis jist aboot tae whisper in Jock’s ear and ask him whit he thought, when Saba started singing in a beautiful, clear voice ‘The Skye Boat Song.’

  “Speed bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing. Onward the sailors cry...”

  That wis that, everywan who wis conscious oan the horse and cart burst intae song and joined in. Paul looked aboot. Mothers, wae sleeping weans oan their laps, hid their heids oan their men’s shoulders, singing. Even though it wis well efter midnight, the ootline ae the surrounding trees, the hills and the whiteness ae the granite stone ae the bridge could be seen clearly. Jock’s auntie, Annie McGregor, led the next song.

  “Hey Johnny Cope, are ye waukin yet, or are yer drums a-beating yet? If ye wur waukin, I would wait, tae gang tae the coals in the morning...”

  By the time they goat tae the castle gates, the cart wis in full song. Bothan didnae need tae slow doon as the pace ae the Clydesdales, though steady, wis walking speed.

  “So, when will I see you then, Paul?” Morven asked, as The Gardener’s Daughter hopped aff the back, shouting cheerio tae everywan.

  “Same place, same time, next year,” Jock chipped in.

  “Ah’m no sure. How aboot Monday? Whit time dae ye finish at?”

  “It’s not like that. It isn’t set hours like a normal job.”

  “Whit time dis The Duke and his guests usually sit doon tae eat at night?” he asked her.

  “Why?”

  “Morven, whit time dis The Duke hiv his supper?”

  “They usually have a drink before their meal at seven and then get piped in on the half hour.”

  “Okay, Ah’ll see ye up at the wee pond beside the Culrain Burn at the tap ae Balblair Wood oan Monday night at hauf seven.”

  “Right, I think I can manage that, but you’ll have to be careful. If the estate keepers see you, you’ll be in trouble.”

  “See ye oan Monday, Morven,” Paul said, kissing her oan the lips as she hopped aff the cart tae join her boss pal.

  Morven and Saba held each other’s erms as they walked up the castle drive, taking turns at singing their favourite Scottish songs, that they’d learned as soon as they wur able tae speak as weans. By the time they reached the main doors and went inside, the place wis in semi-darkness. Only a few lights hid been left oan. It wis clear that everywan hid gone tae bed as Morven turned the key in the lock. As they crossed the entrance hall, they switched the lights aff as they passed the switches. At the tap ae the stairs, Saba froze.

  “What?” Morven asked.

  “Did you hear something?” Saba asked her, her eyes shifting aboot.

  “No.”

  “There it is again,” Saba whispered, flicking the switch that threw the stairwell into darkness as she passed.

  “It’s probably the wind outside,” Morven replied, giggling.

  “Run!” Saba suddenly screamed, as she grabbed Morven’s haun, yanking her forward.

  They baith broke intae a run and darted alang the corridor towards Saba’s bedroom door, the sound ae running footsteps catching up behind them.

  “Saba, slow down,” Morven shrieked, laughing.

  “Hurry!” Saba screamed, throwing open her bedroom door before slamming it shut efter Morven hid followed her through and dived, face first, oan tae the bed.

  “Christ’s sake, Saba.”

  “Did you see him?”

  “Who, for God’s sake?”

  “The man in the hood…the one that was chasing us along the corridor,” Saba panted.

  “I never saw anyone. How much have you had to drink tonight, Saba?” Morven grinned, as Saba dived oan tap
ae her bed beside her.

  “Morven, are you trying to tell me that you didn’t see who was chasing us?” Saba asked, surprised, a big grin appearing on her coupon.

  “No, why?”

  “Right, I’ve asked you this once before, and I’m going to ask you again and this time you will tell me the truth. Who did you lose your tooshie to?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  A week hid passed since the Highland Games. Tae a stranger looking in, life oan the croft, oan tap ae a barren hill, overlooking the Kyle ae Sutherland, wid probably hiv gied the impression ae slow-paced tranquillity. However, it wis during this week that circumstances conspired wae a series ae events that wur tae hiv far-reaching consequences fur Paul and those aroond him, which wid eventually force him tae make a decision, well before he wis ready tae, aboot whether his future lay in the strath or back amongst the smoke-stained tenements ae Glesga.

  Oan the Sunday, Packer arrived at the croft wae the antibiotics fur Wan-eye and Whitey gied the pup his first dose straight away. Packer wis oan his way tae deliver a goat that wis recovering efter hivving swallowed a door knob, tae wan ae the tenants up in Glencalvie and asked Paul if he wanted tae go wae him. Whitey thought it wid gie Paul an opportunity tae visit Croick Church, the churchyard where the families hid gathered efter being cleared aff their land in eighteen forty five. Innes and Whitey hid described how the families hid scratched their names and the date oan the church windae before they wur carted aff tae who knows where. Oan the journey, Packer wis keen tae know where Paul hid learned tae box. Paul filled him in aboot Patsy Milligan and how he’d trained aw the local left-haunders.